


Will you still need me, will you still feed me?

by winterover



Category: Star Trek XI
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-06
Updated: 2010-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterover/pseuds/winterover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Bones have been together for a long time. (Future!fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will you still need me, will you still feed me?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'When I'm Sixty-Four' - The Beatles.

The crows'-feet looked a little deeper this morning. The grooves around his mouth, ditto. And was that a hint of _man-boob_ developing? Good god, he had to go to the gym, do a little weightlifting. Something, at least, to get rid of this - he patted his stomach sadly - extra flab he'd somehow acquired. It was Bones' cooking, probably. All those Southern recipes used butter and oil in everything, maybe they needed to switch to low-fat soy substitute -

Jim was so absorbed in making faces at himself in the bathroom mirror, he didn't even notice Bones sneaking up on him until he was right there.

"Caughtcha."

"What?" said Jim defensively to Bones' face over his shoulder in the mirror. "I was getting ready to brush my teeth."

"With your shirt off and no toothbrush in sight? Try again, Admiral." Bones kissed the corner of his jaw, still covered in morning scruff. "You. Look. _Fine._ "

"Thirty years ago I would have looked _gorgeous_ ," said Jim wistfully, prodding once more at his middle. There was still muscle under there. Possibly. "Time flies, Bones. God. I never appreciated it."

Bones rolled his eyes. Some things never changed. "You are gorgeous, Jim. You just can't expect to look like a twenty-five-year-old. Look." He pointed at his own eyes, the hazel still bright but ringed liberally with laugh lines and underscored with dark-circled bags born of too many long nights working, too much worrying over the lives in his hands. "At least you don't have these. I'm sixty-five goddamn years old and I look like I'm eighty."

"You _don't_. And they give your face character," Jim insisted, smiling at him in the mirror. " _This_ , on the other hand -"

"Gives your body character?" Bones' arms, still strong and steady as ever, twined around his middle, rubbing affectionately at Jim's slightly jiggly spare tire. "You," he whispered into Jim's ear, breath warm, "are still that sexy, smartass genius I met on the shuttle that day. I don't care if you're getting saggy or losing your hair or you gained a few pounds." Jim opened his mouth to protest 'saggy', but Bones shushed him. "You're saggy, Jim. Admit it. And I still want you." He brushed a kiss against Jim's graying sideburn. "Every minute of every day."

Jim turned in his arms to kiss him, and that was one thing that hadn't changed, after all these years. Bones' lips were still soft as they always had been, and the way he pressed against him with a gentle noise of contentment was always right. As he backed Jim up against the countertop, Jim ground their growing hardnesses against each other, only a few layers of sweatpant cloth separating flesh from flesh. No issues there, either. He would always be hot for Bones.

"Let's take this back to bed, huh? Counter's digging into my saggy ass."

Bones tugged him forward and smacked his backside gently. "Your ass is still perfect, and you know it."

True. At least he was lucky somewhere. Jim grinned at him as he pulled him back into the adjoining bedroom, where the screens were set at 25% opacity to let in some of the morning sunlight. Down they tumbled onto the big unmade bed - they were old and decrepit, but it was soft, they could still tumble - pushing their pyjama pants down and wrestling Bones' t-shirt off.

Jim took a minute to admire with his eyes and hands. With every passing year, Bones, who'd been broad and muscular as a young man, was getting smaller and smaller, his tall frame grown thin and wiry with only the width of his shoulders betraying what he'd once been. But his freckled delicate skin, the swirls of gray body hair and the hipbones stubbornly sticking out, were all as beautiful to Jim as the tanned muscles had once been. "So damn gorgeous, Bones," Jim murmured, coaxing his long thighs apart to cup his balls and then stroke his heavy flushed cock. "My Bones. Can't believe it's been thirty-five years."

"Can't believe I haven't hypoed your ass into oblivion before now," Bones agreed, silver head lolling back against the pillows. "Though it's been a near thing. C'mere, Jim." Jim crawled up to kiss him, and then Bones rolled him onto his side and stretched out against him, taking both their erections in hand. Jim helpfully fished the bottle of lube out from under his pillow.

This was how they liked it best. In years gone by they'd had their fair share of frantic up-against-the-wall sex, angry, drunk, grieving sex, makeup sex, shower-bathtub-ocean sex. Every position. Weekend-long marathons and on-shift office quickies. But this, sweet and easy in the early morning with their hips and hands moving together, was always _them_. Bones groaned softly, biting down on Jim's lower lip - Jim twisted his fingers in Bones' still-thick hair and gasped.

They were quiet as they came down from orgasm, Jim on his back and Bones' head tucked in underneath his chin, one leg flung across his thighs. He stirred slightly, and Jim stroked his damp shoulder blade, wondering how he'd gotten so lucky. Maybe the universe owed him something from his earlier years, and it had repaid him in full and then some. Five tours on the most beautiful ship in the galaxy with the best crews, then a job at the Academy he actually liked, and - this. Leonard McCoy, to come home to every night and wake up with every morning. If he had the powers that Q being had once offered him, he would make this last forever.

"Happy birthday, Jim."

"Thank you," Jim replied, wistful. "I never thought I'd live to be sixty."

"Well, too bad," Bones grumped. "You have another sixty to go. Suck it the hell up." He could feel the press of Bones' lips to his neck, belying his words. "I love you." His voice was gentler now. "Don't ever talk about dying, okay?"

"I'm sorry. I won't."

Bones' fingers spread out over his heart and rested there. "Dinner at seven. Bring a dress shirt and a nice tie to work with you. I'll pick you up at a quarter to."

"Okay," said Jim, covering Bones' hand with his, and their fingers laced automatically together, just like always.

  


*


End file.
